a grave for flowers | drarry

chapter 4

chapter 4

Harry Potter's eyes were the color of ferns. 

That was all Draco could process, really, surrounded by a bunch of plants. He was so clumsy, internally berating himself for not watching where he was going, and he really didn't fancy getting yelled at by a customer today, but he had prepared himself for it, tried to be as polite as he could. And when he stood up, Harry bloody Potter was staring at him, black hair and fern green eyes and all.

Draco would have preferred a rude customer. 

(For the record, Potter wasn't rude. Not by a long shot.)

Draco was so scared, so very scared for a moment, seeing the savior of the Wizarding world appear in this tiny corner of the Muggle world, his heart banging against his ribs like a panicked animal throwing itself against a cage. Harry Potter was an important person. A powerful person. A Malfoy had nothing on him, now. 

Draco tried to remember everything he had done in the past month. What could he have possibly done to piss off the Ministry now? Had they sent their best Auror to track him down, laugh in his face and drag him away to Azkaban?

But he hadn't done any of those things. He hadn't even drawn his wand. Because Draco wasn't even a threat. He was just as good as a Muggle, now. Strange how the thought didn't bother him as much as it did in the beginning. 

And when Potter requested, quite politely, actually, for them to step outside and have a word, Draco agreed. Because what else could he do? 

Draco wiped his clammy hands again and again on his florist's apron. He wasn't nervous, he told himself. He wouldn't show Potter that he made Draco nervous.

They stood there wordlessly in the late morning sunlight. It was a little chilly, like the season just couldn't make up its mind. But Potter looked perfectly comfortable in his long-sleeved t-shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, looking like he could stand any sort of weather, and Draco tried not to stare.

"So," Potter said, fern green eyes impossibly light. "A florist, huh?"

"They were hiring," Draco shrugged. 

There was a silence.

 Potter cleared his throat. "Shall we be on our way?"

"On our way?" Draco repeated, dazed. 

"To your house?" Potter said, but not in a way that said he thought Draco was an idiot. "To make sure you haven't blown it up or whatever. And to bring you your pension and stuff. I didn't read the fine print properly anyway."

Trust Potter to be as haphazard as his hair.

Draco swallowed. "Give me... give me ten minutes, yeah? I have to clock out."

"Time's all I got, Malfoy."

♢

Harry decided not to Apparate straight to the address he was given—the streets were starting to fill up with scatterings of Muggles. The weather was fine, so he didn't mind that. He had to follow Malfoy, since he couldn't Apparate.

He started at that blonde head, almost silver in the sunlight. It was strange to see him in regular clothes and not robes. He seemed smaller, somehow, although not shorter—he was still probably a full three or four inches taller than Harry, which, looking back, always infuriated him.

Peeking out from under Malfoy's dark jean's was a glint of silver. The anklet, Harry thought. He was familiar with it—like Malfoy, some of the less dangerous criminals were allowed less harsh sentences than Azkaban. He wondered what it was like for Malfoy, born and raised a wizard, to suddenly have his magic stolen from him.